5 Times Silliness Ended Well and 1 Time it Didn't
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Short crack fic with suggestive language but nothing else.  Sherlock/John.  Plus a bonus short-short conversation.


5. It wasn't supposed to go that far. It was supposed to be a one-off thing. John was feeling happy and rather silly on Easter Sunday after he and Sherlock had coloured eggs with a variety of organic substances like saffron and beet juice. But Sherlock was too focused on his laptop and John felt mischievous. So he came up behind where Sherlock sat at the table and leaned in to whisper in his lover's ear, "Snookie-Poops."

"Are you drunk?" responded Sherlock, fingers still clickiting away.

"Only on you, Smoofily," and then John did an evil thing. He started tickling Sherlock unmercifully under the ribs ignoring Sherlock's cries of 'stop, I'm working, what are you doing,' until they toppled to the floor.

That ended rather well.

4. A few weeks later, on a whim and in an equally devilish mood, John suddenly straddled Sherlock's lap after Top Gear and said, "Are you my Snuffle-Muffin?"

"What? No! This is preposterous, John. This isn't like you at all."

John made a little pouty face, which was a rather good mimicry of Sherlock's own expression, although Sherlock didn't know it. "If you'll be my Snuffle-Muffin, I'll be your Tiddley-Bear." After that he started kissing Sherlock's neck and coiling his fingers in Sherlock's hair.

"My Tiddley-Bear," whispered Sherlock, "really?"

And then neither of them were saying much of anything at all. Well, not in words, silly or otherwise, and that was bloody fantastic.

3. Which was when it started to become absurd.

**Is my Wubbly-One coming home soon? Pufflipug misses him**.

This was a major development, since Sherlock didn't even sign off with his usual SH (as if John didn't know his name, his ringtone and his icon as it appeared on his phone).

But when John came home, Pufflipug was indeed waiting for him, so that was good too. Quite good indeed.

2. John was a more than a little amazed at how much Sherlock seemed to enjoy the game. John could actually get Sherlock to answer the phone because of the promise that John would generally say, "I love you, Butterkins."

Often Sherlock would stop what he was doing and come find John immediately. Which was great for John, followed rapidly by being great for Sherlock.

1. It reached the point where all one of them had to say was, "Come here, my Oomphalishous one," or "Oh, Kiddlebipsky," with an eyebrow raised just so, to start a race to the bedroom, clothing optional.

Oh, my God, did that turn out well.

+1

That…

…was when it all went to hell in the proverbial hand basket.

When Sherlock had spent an inordinate amount of time at a crime scene, practically groping the body, laying down on the floor next to the body and a one point looking like he might actually taste the body, Lestrade caught John's eye and made a kind of head gesture towards Sherlock as if to say, 'Can you do something?'

"Have you found anything, Cuddle-Buns?" And in the instant that the words were out of his mouth, John's face took on a pained expression as if he had just dropped the words like lead weights on his foot rather than having the foot go in the mouth.

Sherlock stood up sharply, a rose coloured flame high on his cheeks.

There was perfect silence for oh, probably five seconds, or an eternity, whichever, where there was absolute silence. Even the traffic in the street seemed to still.

Someone, not naming names here, made a noise like an elephant being strangled, and _that_ was when all hell broke loose.

Donovan doubled over, she was laughing so hard.

Lestrade had tears running down his cheeks, shaking and making a strangled noise as he gasped for air. Some other uniformed were clutching each other and shrieking. The coroner wasn't making any noise just shaking with his eyes squeezed shut.

Sherlock pulled himself up to his full six foot, one half inch, said, "I'll email you," to Lestrade and strode off.

John wasn't surprised that he had to make his own way home.

For MONTHS afterwards, Detective Cuddle-Buns was THE phrase rolling around Scotland Yard even by people who hadn't actually been there.

It should be noted that Cuddle-Buns did not speak to Mr. Cuddle-Buns for an entire week.

Which was not a happy ending. Not at all.

* * *

**BONUS NONSENSE!**

"John, I've decided on a name!"

"A name?"

"Yes, a name for my penis."

"WHAT?"

"You have a name for yours. You call it Peter."

"Yes, but that's not really-"

"And Peter means rock, correct?"

"I suppose, but I think you're-"

"So I have decided to name mine Eff-ee."

"Effie?"

"After the chemical symbol for iron, of course! Come! Comparative strengths must be measured."


End file.
